You Leave Me Breathless
by Margay96
Summary: It's Deadpool and Spider-Man's anniversary. Spider-Man has finally decided to take the next step. Things start to get a little rocky when he finds out that Wade has taken a job however. (I literally can't say anything else with out spoiling the plot. Just read it.)
1. Deep Breaths

Spider-Man touched down softly onto the rooftop, and crept quietly toward a familiar figure crouched near the edge. He made sure to keep out of the other man's sight, doing his best to blend into the shadows provided by a towering skyscraper. His breaths came long and low, too loud in the still air. He held his breath. _Better_. He skulked closer and closer until, finally, he was able to reach out his hand and-

"You know, I thought spiders were supposed to be _quiet_." The man in red and black said without turning around.

"Gaaaahhh!" Spider-Man jumped and snapped his hands back to his chest. "How do you do that!?"

Deadpool smirked. " _Oh_ , I've got _loads_ of skills that you don't know about baby boy. That, and I was totally checking out your ass the last four or five times you swung past this ledge. Am I right to assume that my little itsy-bitsy spider was looking for me?"

" _Okay_ , I swung past maybe _once_ -"

"I would disagree, it was at least twice."

"-and I've told you not to call me itsy-bitsy." Spider-Man plopped down next to Deadpool and elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

"And I've told you, _darling_ ," Deadpool returned Spider-Man's jab with a shove of his own. "That I'll stop calling you that when you prove to me _otherwise_." Deadpool's grin was evident even underneath the fabric of his mask.

"Well then I suppose it's a good thing it's our anniversary." Spider-Man placed a feather light kiss mischievously onto Deadpool's astonished lips. "You won't have to wait any longer."

"You…you mean…that...um…" Spider-Man waited for his boyfriend to stumble onto a coherent sentence. Wade could talk his ear off all day, but even the slightest bit of affection could transform into the mercenary into a blathering mess. He wasn't exactly helping matters either. His hands were busy tracing tiny patterns into Deadpool's uniform. He liked touching his boyfriend, sue him.

"Tonight, you and I are going to have dinner like we planned. But it's _not_ going to be at that fancy and ridiculously overpriced place with a name that I can't pronounce like I know you were planning on taking me to. No, don't give me that look, I've got skills _too_ , you know." Spider-Man moved so that he was straddling Wade's lap.

"But that was supposed to be a surprise," Wade protested weakly. Spider-Man hooked his arms around Deadpool's neck and silenced him with a dry kiss. He was really starting to hate these masks. They deserved a _proper_ kiss, goddammit.

"Instead, you are coming over to _my place_ , and I'm going to make some of the best damn food you've ever tasted." He smirked at the look of confusion growing on his boyfriend's face. "Use your words, Wade."

"…I still think it's unfair that you know my name and I don't know yours."

"Well that's going to change after tonight baby." Wade drew back and gave him a _look_. "What, you can call me all the ridiculous pet names you want, but I can't call you baby?" Wade shook his head. "Oh, the name thing?" Wade nodded vigorously, so much so that if it were not for his healing factor, Spider-Man might have worried about him hurting his neck. "Well, I just figured, it would probably be nice to bare all before we, well, _bared all_ , if you catch my drift. That is, if that's okay with you."

Wade nodded his head slowly, apparently at a loss for words. _God_ , Spider-Man loved being able to do that to him. "You're really going to… I thought we said no gifts?"

Peter groaned. _Of course_ that was how Wade would see it. "Wade. This is not a gift. I didn't just wake up this morning and go, 'you know what would be fun? Revealing my biggest secret to the man I love.'" Spider-Man placed his hands on either side of Wade's face and gently tugged him so that they could see eye to eye. "No babe, this has been a long time coming. It's not a reward, not a gift; it's our next step."

Wade swallowed thickly. "You sure Spidey? It's a pretty big step."

"I'm sure."

"Oh, okay. Yeah. Okay. Yeah" He paused for a moment, considering. "Okay."

"Wade, that was like three okay's. Are…are _you_ okay with this?" Spider-man asked nervously, carefully watching his boyfriend's face for any miniscule aberration that might betray his disinclination.

"I am, just… _shit_ , spidey, give a guy a minute, would ya?" Wade groaned, letting himself fall back onto the hard surface of the rooftop with his hand over his eyes and his legs kicking out over the edge.

It was then that Spider-Man noticed the bag. "Wade, what's that?"

"You're gonna have to be a bit more specific bug-a-boo. Are you referring to the pigeon shit, my _fantastic_ rock-hard abs, or your own comely form?" Wade replied, his response somewhat muffled by his hand.

"The _bag_ , Wade. And don't try and give my any of your lying bullshit. We both know what that bag is for." Oh, he was _seething_ now. _Today_? Of all days, he decided to do this _today_?

"I don't suppose I can convince you that it was such a beautiful day that I decided to clean my guns outside for a change?" He looked at Spider-Man hopefully.

"Fifty stories up? I don't think so." Peter spat. "Try again. This time with the truth."

"Fine. I have a job." Wade slumped over to his weapons, drawing them toward him like a mother polar bear might her cubs.

"No duh." Spider-Man rolled his eyes. "How could you do this, Wade? I mean for chrissakes, it's our _anniversary_. I literally just invited you into _my bed_. Being with you and knowing that those same hands just killed someone. That they probably had another person's _blood_ on them just hours earlier? It's…It's…" The web-slinger floundered about for a moment, searching for the right word."…it's icky!" He blurted, flinging the words at his boyfriend, who was looking like a kicked puppy.

"See?" Wade splayed out his fingers in front of him helplessly. "This is why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd react like this." Wade held up a finger, cutting off Spider-Man as he opened his mouth to resume his rant. "No, let me finish. Yes I have a job. No, it isn't exactly kosher. And yeah, no, I don't really even want to do it."

"Then why-" Spider-Man started, but was interrupted by Wade again.

"I accepted the job a long time ago. I put it off for a long time, but my time is running out. The timing sucks, but that's just how it is. The guy who's paying me isn't exactly the kind of guy you want to piss off. The guy he wants dead has got it coming. Initially, the bid was upwards of 40 mill, just for this one guy. And I'm sorry, but you don't have that big of a price for a single guy without a really good reason."

"I don't care what anybody may or may not have done, _Deadpool_ , or how much money you're making. Killing people is wrong. You know that too, or you wouldn't have hidden this from me."

"I do know that sweetheart." Peter shrank away from the endearment that tumbled effortlessly out of the mercenary's mouth. Wade continued, drooping slightly at Spider-man's reaction. "Just, _please_ let me finish. You can decide if you want to be mad at me afterwards." Taking his boyfriend's silence as permission for him to tell his story, he went on.

"Like I said, it was 40 million dollars _initially_. I'm only doing it for half of that. You see, my employer _really_ hates this guy. To the point where it makes even _me_ uncomfortable. He didn't just want him dead, no that wasn't good enough. He wanted him to die a slow and painful death. Preferably one that involved a combination of fire, acid, and _lots_ of different kinds of knives. He was _very_ specific. It didn't stop there though. He wanted things done to the body after the deed too. Really, really terrible things, the most innocent of which was skinning the man and bringing it back as proof of the kill. Stuff most mercs wouldn't even do normally, but 40 million is a _lot_ of cash. And money has a way of twisting people's minds.

"Now, this was just after I met you, back when I was still trying to figure out how to be a good guy. So I approached this sicko and said 'look, I'll do it, but on one condition. I'm not doing any of that sick shit. It's gross, it's _wrong_. I get to finish him with a clean headshot, or no deal.' Of course he just laughed in my face and asked why, exactly I thought he'd agree to that. To which I said 'I'll do it for half price.' Now _that_ got his attention. He might've been a depraved son of a bitch, but even he could recognize a deal. After all, I _am_ the best there is at what I do, and what I do is _negotiate._ " Deadpool stopped and sucked air into his lungs for what felt like the first time since he began his story. He stole a wary glance at his spider, trying his best to decipher his expression through his mask.

Spider-Man thought about what Deadpool had just said. It made sense, in a twisted way. He could certainly see why Deadpool would think that this was an acceptable solution to a nasty situation. However, that didn't mean that felt the same way.

"Look Wade, I'm not sure what you want me to say here. I get it, I do, but I can't just condone this. Killing is _never_ the best option, or even the right one," Spider-Man pleaded.

"Then tell me what to do baby, 'cause I'm not really seeing another option here," Wade asked morosely.

"You could protect this guy, or turn him over to police. Hell, you could even turn in your 'employer'. From what you've told me, it seems like he has something coming his way anyway."

Wade nodded, hearing Peter's options, but when he realized that that was the extent of his list, he slowly shook his head. "I've already thought of all that baby boy. I can't protect him, there are just too many gunning for his head." Deadpool held up his hand, ticking down his fingers as he rattled off each remonstration. "I can't just 'turn him over to the police' because of a few little things called 'evidence' and 'reasonable doubt'. From the surface, this guy is squeaky clean. Dirt doesn't even stick to him. Most people don't even know his identity, much less what he does. And as for my employer, there's just no touching him. He has friends on the force, he'd get sprung in no time. Plus, surprise, surprise, you can still organize a hit even from the inside of a prison.

"So yeah, the only way to deal with him would be to sleep him with the fishes instead of my target. But that presents a problem in itself. He is surrounded by guards _all the time_. He's got 24/7 security, and ties to quite a few of the local gangs. Even if I could take him out, I'd have his goons coming after me left and right. Of course, that's not even factoring in all the mercenaries that would be coming after me."

"Mercenaries?" Spider-Man inquired.

"Yeah, surprisingly enough, killing your boss is a big no no. If you welch out on a deal, it makes _everyone_ look bad. So yeah, they tend to take it upon themselves to beat some sense into you. Plus there's the whole 'Raaargh, you robbed me of my payload' schtick. And that's _assuming_ that he hasn't written the contract somewhere into his will. Dead doesn't always mean forgotten," Wade finished.

Spider-man wrung his hands, his mind racing faster than an Olympic athlete, trying his best to think of a way out of this situation. As the silence stretched on however, he realized that it was a futile effort. "Okay…okay. It's a sucky situation. But just because I understand…because I-" Spider-Man gulped, forcing the words out of his throat. "Because I accept what you have to do. That doesn't mean that I'm okay with it. I don't _want_ this man to die. I can't just _shrug off_ a man's life you can."

Deadpool reached forward, bridging the distance between them. "I don't expect to you, sweetheart. Hell, I don't _ever_ want you to be okay with this. You live in the light, and I'm sure as hell not going to be the one that drags you into my darkness." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "And as to the _how_ of me being able to do this, well I guess you could say that-"

"Don't say you're doing him a favor, Wade. Just…don't. I honestly don't know if I could look at you ever again if you say that. So please…just don't." Spider-Man trembled in Deadpool's embrace. Somehow, his boyfriends warmth was both exactly what he needed right now and the single most repulsive thing to him at the moment. He couldn't decide if he just wanted to snuggle in and let Wade make it all better, or if he should just push Deadpool away and get out of this while he still could. Unable to make a decision, he just hung limply in the man's arms.

"No, no!" The arms holding Spider-Man shook with each vocal tremor. I wasn't going to say that! I would _never_ say that. Why would you even think that?

"No, that's a stupid question. Of _course_ you would think that. No sugar-muffin, I was just going to say that I don't see it so much as ending a man's life than preventing his _suffering_. You're fortunate not to know real pain, baby boy. It does things to you. Sometimes it's not even the pain that's the worst part. Sometimes it's simply the knowledge that no matter what you do, it's not going to end. _Ever_. I can only pray that you never feel that helpless, Spidey." Wade trailed off, and Spider-Man could tell that he was reliving his days back in the workshop. He squashed down the tiny urge to tell Wade that he was a superhero, he knew pain. Wade rarely talked about his life before he donned the crimson and black spandex get-up, but what little he revealed made Spider-Man sure that nothing that he had ever experienced came even remotely close to Wade's hell.

"It's okay Wade, you don't have to explain," Spider-Man said gently, softly pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Like I said, I understand."

"Yeah, you 'understand', but you think I'm lower than dirt," Wade barked out sharply, his laughter hanging darkly in the crisp air. "I guess it's a good thing I'm done with this shit."

"What?"

"Oh," Wade grinned sheepishly. "I was going to tell you at dinner, but I guess this is as good a time as any. I'm quitting merc work. Not just temporarily either, after tonight, I'm completely done-zo. It's why I'm doing this tonight. Yeah, it's our _anniversary_ , which sucks and feels terrible, but it somehow seemed _worse_ , continuing on and doing this _after_. Like, I dunno, breaking a trust or something. Anyways, what I'm trying to say is that I-" Spider-Man didn't get a chance to hear the rest of Wade's sentence because all of a sudden he was _kissing_ him, and it felt so _right_. Wait, no it didn't. _Stupid masks_ , Peter grumbled inwardly. The fabric was seriously harshing on his spontaneous pronouncement of approval. He ripped off his boyfriend's mask with the hand that wasn't currently snaking around to grab the man's ass. He rolled his own mask up to his nose and dived back in to continue their makeout. He was surprised then, when his lips did not meet flesh but the rough texture of Wade's hand. He stopped and looke up in surprise.

"Is something wrong?" He asked breathlessly. Wade looked pointedly at Peter's mask and lightly jabbed him in the forehead.

"Any particular reason why I'm here sitting pretty, but you're still covered up?"

"Didn't want to ruin the surprise," Peter answered breathlessly, moving in to mouth at his boyfriend's neck.

"You were going to show me _anyways_ , why not _now_. Let the schmexy times commence," Wade smirked. Doing his best to push away their earlier argument, Peter grinned into Wade's neck.

"Nuh-uh. I have a plan."

"Oh, you have a _plan_."

"Yep, and it involves me cooking you dinner," Peter spoke between peppering kisses down Wade's collarbone.

"Mexican?"

"Wade, it's our anniversary."

"Sooo…"

"Of course we're having Mexican." Wade broke out into a grin even as his chutzpa started to wilt from the attention his spider was giving to his neck. "I'm going to text you my address, say six-ish, and you're going to come over in something that isn't a hoodie and jeans, and if I like what I see, then I'm going to open the door and let you into my _home._ "

Wade shivered. "And what will you be wearing, my little spider-mix?"

"Oh, who knows? But you know what I won't be wearing?" Spider-Man paused for effect.

"Underwear?" Great, leave it to Wade to ruin a mood.

"No, babe. I'm going to be at home, waiting for you, and when I finally get to see you, I'm going to be _maskless_." Spider-Man whispered the last part in Wade's ear. Wade let out a low moan.

"Fuuuuck, baby boy. You sure you don't just want to tell me now? I promise I'll be good." Spider-Man looked up at his boyfriend. The man was breathing raggedly, clearly at least a little aroused. A few hours from now, that would be exactly how he would want his boyfriend to look. But not right now. No matter how delicious Wade looked, he wanted tonight to be _perfect_. Somehow sharing their special night on a grimy rooftop in front of a building with large picture windows facing towards them seemed less that perfect.

"Nah, baby. The last thing I want is you accidentally blowing up our house with fireworks. Remember our six month?

"What the thing with the rabbit?"

"Yes, the thing with the rabbit."

"It was one time. Besides, I don't even think I'm allowed in that particular Olive Garden anymore."

"That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence."

"I could help you cook. That could be romantic." Wade suggested hopefully.

"No, I want to build the suspense. Besides," peter leaned in to whisper one last parting remark. "This will give you enough time to decide whether you want me to fuck you into the mattress so hard that you forget your own name, or if you'd have me bounce up and down on your cock, and we both see how loud I can scream." Spider-Man pulled away from Wade's frozen embrace, snickering at the way his mouth hung agape, and leaped of the rooftop. Oh, he was an evil, _evil_ man.


	2. Choking on our Love

Deadpool watched his boyfriend swing away on his web as he gathered up his merc gear to depart. He hated to see him go, but _dang_ did he like to watch him leave. Few things got his heart racing like watching his spider dance through the air. The way he was able to twist and turn, and the finesse of which he was capable often made Wade wonder if he wasn't showing off just a little. He was convinced that he was.

He was loved the little displays Spidey put on for him. It gave him thrills knowing that it was just for him. The web slinger had been getting bolder lately. Sure, he still refused to tell his Avengers team members about their relationship, but Wade could understand that. It was a matter of job security, and he and the avengers rarely saw eye to eye. On the rare occasions when they teamed up however, Spider-Man would take every opportunity he could find to dash by Wade simply to whisper sweet nothings in his ear. Wade was pretty sure he got off on it, if their post-fight make-out sessions were anything to go by.

Wade grinned as he realized that he would now be able to stare into his baby boy's eyes during said kissing. Or, not _during_ them, that would be creepy, but like, before and after. He'd finally be able to actually be truly intimate with his spider. It wasn't like they had never done anything before. They'd had some pretty heavy make-out sessions, and there had definitely been groping and some frottage that had ended in…completion, but they had yet to actually do anything outside of their respective spandex shells.

So yeah, they hadn't either done anything in the entire year that they'd been dating, and they kept their masks on for every date. A situation that suited them both just fine.

It was hardly a secret that Wade had a bit of a complex about his looks. Spidey knew about the scars, had even seen them on a few occasions, but there was no way that Wade was going to frighten the hero any more than he already had. Not that he'd been scared. Wade remembered the first time Spider-Man had seen his scars, back before they were dating. He hadn't even blinked. Didn't even seem to see them really. He simply kept talking to Wade as if he was an ordinary person. As if he deserved normal treatment. As if he was more than the dirt under the X-Men's perfectly polished boots. If Wade was being perfectly honest with himself, it had been unnerving. Since them, Spider-man had been nothing but cordial to him, acting like he wasn't the monster that he knew himself to be. On occasion, he even asked Deadpool to take off the mask, a question to which he always gave the same answer.

'I'll show you mine if you show me yours.' Every time the question was asked with a mixture of trepidation and excitement, though lately is had been leaning more heavily toward the latter. It hadn't mattered though, because he was always met with a weighty silence. But that was about to change.

His honey-muffin actually trusted him enough to reveal his identity. It wasn't like Wade had been pressing the issue, if he had a right to his mask, then of course his boyfriend did too, but he had always hoped that their relationship, wherever it went, would be strong enough to last a real unmasking.

Even now however, Wade felt a shadow of doubt creep into his mind, turning his earlier sunny thoughts dark. He couldn't help it. Even after _an entire year_ , he was unable to believe that anyone could love him for himself. It wasn't even his looks necessarily, by now he more or less trusted that the wall crawler was past the superficial aspect of their relationship.

No, Wade was honestly sure of whether he was deserving of that love. His boyfriend was back at home, no doubt making preparations for what would surely be the _best night of his life_ , and he was, going out to kill someone.

He remembered Peter's reaction, how angry he had been when he found out Deadpool had taken a job. How he calmed down only when Wade explained to him the extenuating circumstances of this particular hit. His horrified face when Wade had told him of the tortures that lied in wait for the poor sap. The conflict that was apparent even through the mask as he tried to come up with other options. The grudging acceptance in his eyes as Wade lied.

Because he had lied. To protect his boyfriend, to be sure, but still. He had lied. He hadn't taken the job months ago. He had only even heard about it two weeks prior. He _didn't_ know that his mark was a bad man. He could be, Wade supposed, but he hadn't really done any research into his target. What he had told Peter about this being his last job was true. He wouldn't have taken it at all really, but there had been so much money, and the thought of all of the ways he could spoil his boyfriend with it had just been too tempting to resist. Yeah, Webs would be mad if he ever found out, blood money and all that, but Wade would just make sure he never would.

Wade adjusted his gun bag, its strap carving lesions into his skin, just to be healed as quickly as they appeared. It was a perfect time for a hit; Bright enough to see his target, and absolutely _no_ wind, a rarity in Manhattan. He glanced down at the address in his hand to make sure he was going the right direction. His employer had been surprisingly helpful in locating objective. Usually he was lucky if he got a name to go with the face, or vice versa. This guy had put together a dossier containing a name and address, photos, both posed and candid, as well as a list of his favorite hangout spots. All in all, it was actually some pretty impressive work.

Not that he would show Spidey. Wade had noted, during their conversation, that there was one question that he had neglected to ask. No, not neglected _, avoided_.

Who _was_ his target? Who exactly _was_ Deadpool going to kill? Spider-Man did not accept this part of Wade. His other quirks? Sure. The murderous psychopathic nature he sometimes had a hard time controlling? Not So much. He knew he had put the hero in an awkward situation, and not asking was Spidey's way of dealing with it, but…it made him feel dirty. It was like this was Spider-Man's way of washing his hands of him. Of ignoring him. He knew he should feel guilty, it was his own fault after all, but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Finally approaching his destination, Wade climbed to the top of the building outside the apartment. Once he had chosen a decent spot, he started methodically setting up his equipment. He pointed his gun toward the apartment complex.

"Lessee, one, two, three up, and one, two across. There you are." Having found the correct room, Deadpool took a moment to compare his picture to the man inside. They were obviously the same person. They both had the same unruly chocolate brown hair and the same pearly smile. Deadpool watched a moment as the man danced around his apartment. He seemed really happy. Wade's stomach knotted. If he had been bothering to analyze his feelings, he would have detected this feeling as regret, but he had long since conditioned himself to be emotionless while in the field. Give him a spatula, he was a cook. Give him a dress, he was one sexy motherfucker. Put a gun in his hands, and he was a killer. Simple as that. Wade checked the wind one last time. Wait- was that smoke? Wade peered through the scope. Yep, the guy was definitely cooking what appeared to be dinner for two. Or had been at least, currently the food was too crispy for him to even identify what is was. He watched his mark pout at his ruined food. From the look of the table behind him, it would seem that he had a date later. Whoever the lucky, or unlucky person as it were, was, they were going to be sorely disappointed. Again, Wade felt his not-regret twinge. He frowned. He had a job to do. He couldn't afford to have the luxury of a conscience.

Deadpool lined up the shot one last time, putting the crosshairs directly on the center of Mr. Pretty Boy's head. "Goodbye, Peter Parker," Wade said softly, pulling the trigger even as the head snapped up and the mop of hair dove to the side trying desperately, he assumed, to avoid his bullet.

xxxxxxx

Peter hummed softly to himself, dancing around his tiny kitchen. He was elated that Wade was quitting mercenary work. Or, at least, he was quitting the part of his job that involved killing. Peter wasn't entirely sure that Wade would be able to give up being a mercenary completely, it was his job after all, but he felt confident that he would be able to look past the criminal nature of Deadpool's job as long as it did not require contract killings.

Peter remembered the look on Wade face when he had told him of his news. Yes, he had seemed scared, a little sheepish even, but to Peter, he had never looked more beautiful. He smiled. Everything was coming together. Initially, he had made no secret of his misgivings about the merc, but now… now he couldn't imagine spending his time with anyone else. Ignoring their earlier squabble, today was going to be perfect.

He had set the table earlier, before he had gone out on patrol. He hadn't lit the candles yet, because, well fire hazard, but they stood tall and proud in their place on the table. He had even managed to find the time to stop and grab some roses on the way home. Most of which had met their demise as Peter tore off all of their petals and scattered them around the floor, leaving a trail into the bedroom, but he had kept a single rose in the only vase he owned as a center piece for the table.

Even as Peter turned to attend to the enchiladas he was cooking for their date, he couldn't help but sneak a few wayward glances at his handiwork. It wasn't overly extravagant, but it did have a certain je ne sais quoi about it that Peter thought suited them just fine. He couldn't help but imagine the look on Wade's face when he showed up. In all likelihood, they would just skip dinner and head straight toward the bedroom, but Peter was determined to put in the effort anyway.

He stretched languidly and strode to the window, opening it and breathing in the fresh air. He hadn't really noticed earlier, but it really was nice out. Maybe he and Wade could go for a walk later. A jolt of exhilaration shot through him as he realized that they would actually be able to do mundane things like that together now. It wasn't like they never went out- they did- but they were always in costume, or at least their masks. Whenever they went out in public, Peter had never been able to fully enjoy himself. He was always looking over his shoulder to see if any capes or paparazzi would catch them. Wade wasn't any help either. He had kept asking why, if his spider was so nervous, he didn't just forgo the mask entirely, go on an entirely candid date. Peter wanted to, god had he wanted to, but in the back of his mind he just kept picturing Gwen and MJ, and everyone else he had failed by letting them into his life. He knew it was stupid, Wade couldn't die, but still, he just couldn't take that chance. Not with Wade.

A burning scent caused him to turn back around. Well, so much for their meal together. He quickly turned off the heat and placed their dinner onto his good china. Good china in this case referring to the one set of ceramic plates he owned, a moving-out gift from Aunt May. He sniffed their dinner, it seemed edible. It wouldn't be their most _delicious_ meal ever, but that was hardly the point of tonight. Peter grinned, maybe Wade _would_ get his wish and cook the two of them dinner.

He remembered the last tie his boyfriend had made them dinner. He had worn a ruffled pink apron and no matter how much Peter had protested, he was unable to stop Wade from singing 90s pop songs. As much as Peter loved his boyfriend, he really did not have the voice for singing. But the sight of him in that apron…Peter felt his mouth go dry. He could not wait to see that apron again. Idly, he wondered what the chances were that Wade would bring it with him tonight. After a brief moment of deliberation, he decided that the odds were actually pretty high.

Peter's daydreaming was interrupted by a sharp tingling sensation coursing up and down his spine. He glanced around wildly. His spider sense? He was at home! No one knew about him, at least no one that he didn't trust completely. There was no reason for it, no reason for him to be so scared. And he was scared. It wasn't the mild WARNING: DANGER PRESENT sort of feeling he got while flying over the city. This was not directed at someone else. This was not someone who planned to injure him. No, he was going to die. Quickly, he zoned in to where he felt the dangerous presence and squinted. He caught a glimpse of red and black spandex.

Oh. It was Wade. He had followed him home. He tried to relax, but the adrenaline sending shivers through his body refused. It was _Wade_ , what was-?

It was then that he caught a reflection of light bouncing off of cold hard metal. _A gun_. Deadpool was pointing a gun at him. At _him_. He felt his blood go cold. He hadn't asked who Wade's target was-he hadn't wanted to know. He just wanted to put this whole thing behind them, he had never considered the possibility that _he_ was the target.

He had to stop this. Had to tell Deadpool to stop. He dove for his phone. He could call Deadpool. Explain. It didn't have to end this way. It didn't have to-

xxxxxx

Deadpool stepped into the cramped apartment. He sniffed. Once you got over the smoky aroma, it actually smelled pretty good in here. He stepped over to the plated food.

"Ooh, still warm." He carried the plate back over to the table and dug in. It was not the best thing he had ever eaten, but it was still pretty good. Wade supposed that if it hadn't been burnt, it probably would've tasted much better. He hoped whatever Spidey was preparing for tonight would be half as good as this.

As he munched, he surveyed the room. Parker had obviously put a lot of effort into decorating. There were rose petals _everywhere_ ; on the table, on the floor. He glanced down at Parker's corpse resting on a bed of petals.

"Probably not the kind of bed you were hoping for, but I guess it's better than nothing". He examined his handiwork. It was a clean shot. One bullet to the head. From what he could figure, the man had died instantly. He breathed a sigh of relief. That was one less thing to lie to Spider-Man about. He could honestly say that he avoided any suffering on the behalf of the victim. Parker's Date on the other hand… He looked around, trying to find any pictures that might lend a clue as to who the lucky lady (or man, who was he to judge?) might be. He pushed himself back from the table and strolled around the apartment. The only pictures he could find were ones of an older looking lady. Probably a mother or grandmother. Possibly an aunt.

He turned back to the body. The romantic scene was marred somewhat by the crimson stain leaching its way into the carpet and the brain matter splayed across the walls. It might have been a clean shot, but that in no way meant that it was sanitary. This guy was definitely going to have a closed casket funeral. Oh well, Wade had always found them to be more tasteful anyway.

He reached into his and pulled out his phone. His employer had said that he needed photographic evidence in order to receive his money. Wade was grateful that enough of Parker's face remained to be useful in identifying him. Otherwise, he would have had to actually cut off the head and return it to his employer so that they could his teeth to identify him. Or maybe, Deadpool mused, he would be able to make do with just the lower jaw. It would be much less messy, and would probably achieve the same result. He briefly wondered if he should bring it back anyway, just in case… no. He didn't want to get bloodstains on his suit. He could imagine the horror on Spidey's face if he showed up with blood on his suit after a contract killing.

Although… he wasn't going to show up in his suit. Plus, he had been planning on taking a shower anyway… Wade shook his head. No, if his lil' spider-muffin were to hear about this killing on the news, Wade didn't need him hearing that he had ripped of a guy's jaw for 'identification purposes'.

He leaned down and snapped a selfie with the body. He sent the picture to his employer with a caption that said: Mission Complete ;). After a few moments, he got a reply that simply stated that his funds would be transferred shortly.

His work done, he gathered up his gear and left, heading home to get ready for his date later that night. As he walked home, he couldn't help but put a skip in his step in anticipation of the wonderful night he and his spider were about to have.


	3. Gasping For Air

Wade entered his home bright and chipper. It was the perfect day. His hit had gone off without a hitch. The sun was warm and shining, and the weather was perfect. There had barely been any clouds rolling overhead as he had skipped home. The scent of daffodils following him home reminded him of just how wonderful springtime could be. He had made sure to grab a bouquet for Spidey, because who didn't love flowers?

So yeah, the sun was out, and he had a date, an _anniversary_ even, with the greatest man on the planet. It was a wonderful time to be alive.

Wade hurried about getting ready. He really didn't want to miss the web-slinger's text. God forbid he kept his baby _waiting_. Unfortunately, that meant taking a short shower. Wade made do with reconciling himself that whatever fantasies he could cook up under the tepid spray would most likely be far overshadowed by what was going to happen later that night.

Instead of having happy times, Wade concentrated on scrubbing the evidence of his work away. Gunpowder had a way of worming its way into his suit. A fact that Spidey often brought up during their numerous cuddle sessions. Spider-Man was always assuring Wade that he didn't mind, but…tonight was _special_. Wade wasn't going to fuck it up by reminding him of where he had been. What he had been doing.

Fortunately, there wasn't much gore to clean up. Sniper hits could be tricky to be sure, but they were a hell of a lot cleaner. The only blood he had to wash away was below his midsection, when he had kneeled down to take a picture with the body.

Wade watched as the floor of the shower turned red. Huh. Maybe there had been more than he had originally thought. He scrubbed hard, making sure all of the evidence was gone before turning his attention to the rest of his body. Sure enough, he found little dried specs on his hands where the blood had soaked through his gloves. He found sore more freckled across his arms and, feeling his cheek, he found a little smear even there.

Wade washed it all off. When he finished his shower, he double checked himself in the mirror just to make sure that it was all gone. He couldn't pretend that he actually _liked_ what he saw, but he was clean, and that was all that mattered. That was all that Spider-Man cared about.

As he got dressed, Wade started to imagine what his spider's name was. It was a game he had played often enough over the years, even more so once he and the hero had started dating. Lately though, he had stopped, seeing that it made Spidey uncomfortable. His boyfriend had secrets. He could respect that.

Now though, the temptation was too much to resist. It wouldn't be anything too flashy. It would be a good solid name. Something grounded, respectable. Something like….Andrew… or maybe David. A good strong name. Something with style and finesse. Good god, it was probably _alliterative_. Well, Wade considered, he pulled of three W's well enough why couldn't his partner do the same with G's, or maybe… Z's. Grant grape, Zachary Zucchini, Andrew Applesauce.

Wade stopped as his mind started to wander. He was getting hungry. Parker's enchilada had been an hour ago. He hoped Spidey called soon.

XxXxXxX

Nothing. Wade checked his messages again. _Still nothing_. What was taking his baby boy so long? Webs was a bit of a perfectionist to be sure, but this was ridiculous. It was _way_ past dinner time. He had had to exercise all of his self-control just to avoid his kitchen. The last thing he wanted was to spoil their dinner date. If it ever happened at all at this point.

What was taking him so long?

Wade threw his phone at the end of the couch where it landed with a satisfying smack. He got up and started to pace his way around the apartment. Maybe…maybe Spidey had changed his mind. Maybe he _couldn't_ get over the fact that his honeybunch had taken a job. Wade would hardly be able to blame him in that case, because it was his _fucking fault_.

This silence…it could be his baby's way of telling him that they were over. Done-zo. Kaput. Over.

Wade threw himself back on the couch in despair.

*Ding*

Wade flipped up and snatched at his phone. _Finally._ His grin soon disappeared when his saw who it was from. He tapped it open. Well, at least he had gotten his money.

 _20 million dollars_. He could buy a lot of stuff with 20 million dollars. New guns and some ammo would be the priority. He might not be killing people for money anymore, but that didn't mean that he could just stop fighting. He could still use his guns, he'd just make sure that he actually helped people from now on.

Of course, that still left the question of what to do with the rest of money. He had enough, he could afford to get something special. Something big. Big like…a house. Wade blinked, surprised at his subconscious. A house? What was he going to do with a house? He and Webs both had perfectly good apartments… _Oh_. Apartment _s_. As in, plural.

Did he- Did he actually want them to move in together? Wade snorted at the thought. Oh yeah, that'd go well. He could see it now: The Domestic Lives of Spider-Man and Deadpool. Somehow he doubted it would sell very well. Then again, anything would probably sell better than any of _his_ comics, so who was he to judge? Besides…somehow, it really didn't sound that unappealing. Getting to see his baby every day? What could be better than that?

Of course, that was assuming the web-head still wanted to see him. He was starting to get worried. Maybe something had happened. Maybe Doctor Octopus had possessed him again. Maybe he had spent the past _year_ being possessed, and had just woken up and come to his senses.

Wade shook his head as he started to veer into unproductive territory. He was paranoid, probably, though certainly not without good reason. It wasn't like his spider to worry him.

His fingers pulled up Spidey's contact and hit send.

Voicemail. He had gone to voicemail? That _never_ happened. Now he really was worried. What could be more important than _him_? Wade racked his brain. _The Avengers_. Webs was at their beck and call. If they needed him, he would go, no questions asked. As much as he liked to pretend otherwise, Wade knew that he came below 'saving the world' on Spider-Man's list of important things.

Satisfied that he had formulated an answer, Wade tossed on his gun belt and swords and stalked out the door. As annoyed as he might be at his baby boy, if Spider-Man needed his help, he would be there. Every time.

xXxXxXxXxXx

Wade was surprised at the lack of security at Stark tower. He wasn't _exactly_ unwelcome there, Spidey had seen to that, but there was always this vibe of distrust in the air that weighed on him heavily enough to keep him away. It wasn't something Spidey ever noticed, and how could he? Everyone _loved_ him. Or at least respected him. Spider-Man never saw the way that eyes shifted ever so slightly to track Deadpool's whereabouts at all times. He never heard the way the receptionist's voice turned sharp whenever she acknowledged his presence. No, Spider-Man was always greeted with warm smiles and a 'How's it hanging?' immediately followed by appreciative chuckles for the lame witticisms. Wade however, got a stern nod, and a 'Don't touch anything, Wilson' accompanied by a steely glare that promised painful repercussions should he not heed the house rules.

So yeah, as uncomfortable as it was for him to be in the Stark tower, it was made even more unnerving by the fact that he was _alone_. The receptionist was gone, her post bare. The security was gone too. He was able to skulk into the elevator without any of the usual opposition.

Again, he was met with that gilded silence. He actually had to physically press the button to take him up to the penthouse, as Jarvis was nowhere to be found (heard?).

Once he reached his destination, he was greeted with more of the same somber silence. The only thing distinguishing feature of this room versus the lobby was the sheer body count. Downstairs had been deserted, but up here was packed tighter than the bullets in his gun. Every member on the Avenger's roster was currently crowded around Stark's giant plasma screen. There were others too: the Fantastic Four, various independent heroes, and other organizations he only vaguely recognized by their color-coordinated costumes. There were so many people, and each of them wore the same identical blank expression.

Wade was no stranger to that look, he himself had worn it often enough, after all. Any other day he might have asked what was wrong, but right now he had other urgent matters. He coughed awkwardly, the sound reverberating around the room and drawing every person's eyes to him.

"Um, hi." Most of the heroes turned their attention back to the TV, indifferent to his presence. "If I could borrow someone, I kind of have a problem… It's kind of important…" Wade awkwardly asked the backs of Dr. Banner's and Logan's heads.

"Fuck off, bub. Read the room."

"Okay, yeah, obviously something happened, but you see -" Wade started to explain his reason for coming, but he was soon interrupted by a firm, no nonsense voice.

"Wade, now really is not the best time for your shenanigans". Wade whipped around at the sound of Captain America's voice. The super soldier's shoulders, usually held strong and proud now seemed tired, as if they couldn't be bothered to do their job. Beside him, Tony Stark, Iron Man, was crossing his arms in annoyance.

"Yeah, and I don't remember inviting you. Listen, I know, you thought you and Spider-Man were tight, but we don't need you here. You being here just makes a mockery of what's happened. So either get out, or I'll put you out. 'Cause, we _really_ don't need this right now." He glared at Wade, his threat somehow made even more ominous by the fact that he wasn't even wearing his armor.

"Tony, that really isn't helping." Steve laid an arm on Tony's arm, as if that small action alone was enough to quench Tony's obvious desire to rip off Deadpool's various appendages. Slowly. Steve sighed, "Wade has just as much of a right to be here as any of us. I don't believe he is here to cause trouble either. Look at him, he actually seems to be taking this fairly seriously. I mean," he turned to glower at Tony, "he is the only one here who even bothered to dress up."

Wade looked down and started fidgeting with the hem of his suit. He had forgotten he had put it on. "Oh, this? No, this has nothing to do with what's going on. I just, I uh, have a date."

Tony exploded. "See! I told you Steve! A mockery! He doesn't give a shit about what's going on. He probably just came to see if he could score any free booze." Tony's outburst had elicited a few curious glances from various heroes around the room, but he didn't seem to notice them. He shoved his face right up next to Wade's and snarled, "It's in the back, help yourself, then get the fuck out of my house." He pointed furiously toward the door, as if he had suddenly gained the power to telekinetically force Deadpool out of his sight.

"B-but, I just wanted to know if you had seen Spider-Man? 'Cause he hasn't returned my calls, and we had plans, and…" He trailed off nervously as Tony's face contorted maliciously.

"Get. Out." Tony seized the front of Wade's suit and did his best to throw him toward the door. Wade was officially confused. What was going on? "What was wrong with everybody?"

"Tony, Wait." Tony turned back to Steve, seething.

"Don't tell me what to do in my own house. He's being disrespectable. Which, fine, he usually is, but at a time like this? He's cracking jokes about _this_?"

"No, I don't think he is." He strode past Tony and bent to help Wade pick himself up from where he had landed on the floor. "Wade, what do you think is going on?" Wade shot an apprehensive glance at Tony, who was currently giving him a death glare. "Wade, it's okay. Just answer the question."

"Okay, but I really have no idea what is going on. Spidey isn't answering my calls, and I thought maybe you had sent him on a mission or maybe something bad had happened, so I thought maybe you guys would know where he was, but then I got here and the building was empty and everyone was really sad, and Iron Man got really mad at me, but that's not really that unusual, and now I'm just really confused." Wade sucked in a deep breath, as his rambling had left him a little short of breath. "So, do you? Know where the web-head is, I mean?"

"You don't- you don't know?" Tony asked incredulously as Steve sagged beside him. "How- how could you not know?" Wade shrugged nervously, waiting for him to get to the point, because he really didn't have time for this. "It's Spider-Man, Deadpool," Wade head snapped up. "…he's dead."

What? No, that didn't make sense. He had just _seen_ his spider, and he had been very much alive. Wade felt himself growing angry. How dare he mess with his emotions. Tony had always had it out for Wade, that was no secret, but this was low, even for him. He snagged Tony's shirt, much like Tony had done to him not moments ago. "How _dare_ you," he snarled. "You think this is funny? Mess with the merc, it's not like he has _feelings_ , it's not like he's an actual fucking person who actually fucking _cares!"_ Dimly, he registered that he was lifting Tony off the ground, trying to physically shake some sense into him. He knew he was being irrational, but he didn't care. His spider couldn't be dead. It was impossible. _He_ was the one who died, it didn't work the other way around.

"You're lying. My baby boy is not dead." Captain America shook his head.

"I'm sorry Wade."

Wade let Tony down. Well, 'let wasn't exactly the right word. It was more like he lost the use of his arms. His whole body really. He barely registered the feeling of too-warm hands propping him up or whatever the hell Captain America was saying. Something about a bullet? No, he didn't want to hear this. His baby was gone. Gone. His mind blanked out everything else until that was the only thought capable of running through his head. He was _gone_. And he wasn't. No, he was here, surrounded by warm bodies, and he was…crying? Yeah, he was crying in front of Captain freaking America, and he didn't even fucking care.

There were hands everywhere. They were all reaching out for him, grappling for a hold. Why? What was-? Oh. He forced himself back into a state bearing some resemblance to sanity. In the absence of his mind, his body had reacted to the news the only way it knew how. He had drawn his weapons and proceeded to attack the congregating heroes. By the swelling he saw, he must have put in some real effort. Now however, there were at least eight different sets of arms pinning him in place. He couldn't even move his fists which sucked, because he _really_ needed to hit something right now.

"Wade, calm down." Wade turned at the sound of a new voice whispering in his ear, its soft gentle tone in direct contrast to the cacophony of shouting going on around them.

"I can't calm down. You don't understand. You _can't_ understand. I-I loved him." Wade looked up into the soft features of Johnny Storm.

Johnny smiled sadly. "Actually I can. He told me. About the two of you I mean."

"He told you? He said that I wasn't allowed to tell anyone, but he told _you_?" The Human Torch nodded.

"We were close," he said flatly, and left it at that. Wade nodded, unable to say anything else for the moment, and forced himself to relax. Slowly, the hands restraining him started to slip away. "Do you want to know what happened?" Wade frowned. No, he didn't want to know. He wanted his sugar muffin to be alive and in his arms, not cold and stiff and buried underground. But then he wouldn't know who did it. He wouldn't be able to track down the bastard and kill him. Wade forced himself to nod in affirmation. Yeah, he had promised Spidey no more killing, for money _or_ revenge, but he was dead. It didn't matter anymore.

"I'm guessing a mugging gone bad, right? He could only go around heroing for so long before something bad happened." It was a subject they had talked about often enough. Really, with Spider-Man's history, sometimes the topic seemed unavoidable. He had warned Wade that death followed him like a shadow, that he was cursed. Wade had shrugged it off, not realizing the implications of what his spider had been trying to tell him. Now though, this oversight seemed glaringly obvious, because _of course_ Spidey hadn't been talking about him. He had been talking about himself. He'd been reminding Wade of his mortality, trying to prepare him for the unthinkable. He had been right. Even then, he had seen this coming.

"No, actually." Stark came up behind them. "That's part of what makes it so terrible. He wasn't on patrol. He wasn't even in costume. Some bastard found out where he lived, and shot him. Didn't even have the nerve to do it face to face. Whoever it was shot him through the window, from far away. Like a coward.

"The only reason we even knew it was him, Spider-Man I mean, was because the forensics team found a suit in his room."

"The whole thing is such an unfortunate tragedy," Steve said from his place beside Tony. "His poor aunt is getting swamped by the media, apparently she didn't even know about his double life. We've been trying to get in touch with her, to offer our condolences, but she's having such a hard time right now. The poor woman isn't used to so much attention I'm afraid. She's shut herself in and won't talk to anyone. Not that she has to, she has every right to be upset and mourn on her own time," he said hastefully. "It's just so terrible that it happened _now_. He seemed so _happy_. He never said anything, but we all suspected it had to do with a girl."

"A girl?" Wade asked, confused.

"Yeah, it was kind of obvious, what with the way he would start randomly humming love songs during briefings. Or how he wore this stupid grin like it was a freaking medal or something whenever we went on patrol, which really, now that I think about it, was actually quite impressive considering the fact that he always wore a mask." Great. Now everyone was reminiscing with their own stupid fucking grins, and Wade was left to set them straight.

"That wasn't a girl, you idiot," Wade spat out.

"Obviously it was, they even had a date tonight. Or they would've, it not for…" Tony trailed off, unsure of exactly how to complete his sentence.

"No, it _wasn't_. I mean, yeah it was a date, an _anniversary_ even," Wade hastily corrected himself at the avenger's confused expressions. "But it wasn't a girl. It was a man. Specifically, _me_."

Tony sighed, "Look Wade, your obsession with Spider-Man has gone on long enough. Just drop it already."

"He's telling the truth." Tony looked at Johnny in surprise. "They've been dating for almost a year."

" _Exactly_ one year, thank you very much."

Tony's mouth was currently doing a very spot-on impression of a trout out of water, which might have been funny, but right now Wade was in too much pain to care. "Y-you? He covered his entire floor with rose petals for you?! But, he's, I mean he wasn't even-"

"Gay? No, he never really did like labels all that much. But, yeah no, he wasn't exactly what you'd call straight. And…rose petals? He did that for me?" He smiled bittersweetly. It was just like him to pull out all of the stops. But…rose petals. There was something about that, something not quite right. If he could just force his brain to cooperate… "What else did he have planned? I mean, as far as you could tell."

"Um, well we didn't exactly do that much searching. All we know is what was in the initial report…" Steve took in Wade's crestfallen expression and did his best to remember the details. "There were candles on the table, I think. Um, there were petals everywhere. I think they formed a trail into the erm," he coughed awkwardly. "the bedroom. Uhh, what else? He, I think he made dinner? Not sure exactly what it was, because apparently it was fairly burnt, but I think they were saying that it was Mexican? Tony, is that right?"

"Uh, I think it was an enchilada. Only one of them though, they think the killer ate the other one when he broke into his apartment."

Okay, wait. Petals. An aunt. Burnt enchiladas? This scene was starting to become disturbingly familiar. But, no, there was no way. He couldn't have-. He would have _known_. Wade scrambled to come up with any other solution than the one his brain was forming.

"What I don't get," Johnny joined in on the discussion. "Is how he was killed at all in the first place. I mean yeah, bullet, but he should have sensed that he was in danger at the very least."

"Maybe the killer was just that good." Tony retorted.

"Yeah, but he has- had spider reflexes. He should have been able to dodge anything. So why didn't he?"

"Maybe he didn't want to? But he wasn't the type to do something reckless or suicidal. At least," Steve pouted, "I don't think he was. So maybe… he didn't think he was in any actual danger? Maybe it was someone he trusted. Or at least, someone he didn't think he had any reason to fear." As Steve and Johnny pontificated, Tony slid his eyes over to where Wade was currently having an existential crisis.

"His name," Wade asked in a hoarse whisper. "What was his _name_?"

"Who, Spider-Man? You didn't know your own boyfr-"

"His _name_." Wade growled, and Tony clamped his jaw shut at the murderous look in Wade's eyes.

Whatever the name was that left Tony's lips went unheard by Wade because at that moment he had finally caught a glimpse of what everyone had been staring at when he had walked in. On the screen were two images, both painfully familiar. On the right was the classic red and blue spandex with which Wade had grown intimately familiar with over the past year. However, on the left was a new picture. This one featured an unruly mop of brown hair that was at once recognizable for all the wrong reasons.

Wade was numb, he had been since he had found out his baby boy was dead, but this, this was worse. There was a cannon sitting on his chest, crushing his lungs. His vision went dark, but it was too late, he had already read the caption beneath the photos.

THE FALLEN HERO REVEALED: PETER PARKER IS SPIDER-MAN

His heart. It should be on fire, or ripping in half or _something_ , but it wasn't. He couldn't even feel it beating. Not that it mattered. Wade doubted it would have been able to push the frozen sludge of his blood around anyway. Whatever his problems, Wade couldn't focus. Something was wrong. Someone was screaming, a high pitched keening that wormed its way into his brain and refused to leave. He wished they would stop. Except, oh wait, no that was him.

Bone-twisting howls were flooding out of his mouth. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. H-he had killed him. He hadn't _known_. He'd looked right at him. He'd been a good distance away, but they had locked gazes. Wade had looked his baby right in the eye and he hadn't _known_. He had seen the adorable brunette locks and those beautiful strong cheekbones and he hadn't thought twice. He just pulled the trigger.

Wade stole another glance at the TV and immediately shut his eyes again. He had not needed to see that. He could have gone his entire life without ever seeing _that_ again. Peter…his spider…was lying dead on that screen. The entire left side of his face was just…gone. The blood…oh god the blood was _everywhere_. Dimly, he remembered his earlier shower. He remembered his annoyance at having to scrape the dried crimson flecks from his skin. Blood. _Peter's_ blood. He was going to be sick.

He managed to contort his body so that he was on all fours and then proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach all over Stark's perfectly polished floors. To his credit, Tony didn't say a word; not even when the sight of a half digested enchilada caused Wade to spew out whatever little digestive juices had remained in his stomach. He heaved until there was nothing left. Until he felt as empty inside as he did emotionally.

His spider….Peter Parker, was dead because of him. Peter was dead. He was alive. That wasn't right.

His gun, where was his _gun_? He grappled at his holster and tried to jam it up under his chin like he'd done a million times before in the past, but suddenly the room erupted into chaos, and the hands that had been restraining him earlier were _back_ , and trying to wrestle the gun away. In his morose state, Wade had been unable to hold onto it.

Fine. He didn't need a gun. Guns were too good for him. He was a monster, as ugly on the inside as he was on the outside. He didn't deserve a dignified death.

He began to claw at his throat, relishing the pain. A small part of him grew happy at this meager attempt at retribution, but only a small part. It was hard, messy work. His fingernails were dull, making it impossible to simply slice through the skin. It wasn't altogether impossible though. By the time the heroes had realized what he was doing, he had gored a small hole into his neck and managed to hook a finger around his trachea.

But, before he could pull it out and _end_ this damn charade, the hands were back, pulling his hands away from his neck and pinning them to his chest. He tried to kick his way out from under the mass of bodies, but he was surrounded by consummate professionals. They trapped his legs and pinned him down. Try as he might, Wade could not move a single muscle.

Wait. That wasn't true. Wade started to gleefully bash his head against the floor. The cold, hard floor. Not wholly unlike the one that his baby boy had died on. The wood did its job, and with each smack, Wade could feel his head growing ever tenderer. By the time the heroes realized what he was doing, it was too late, with a forceful _crack_ , Wade was settled into the cool embrace of death with a sigh.


	4. Breathless

The memorial service was a somber affair. That's what everyone had said anyway. Wade wouldn't know, he wasn't there. Thousands of New Yorkers came out to honor their fallen hero; each had a unique story, and every single one of them had had their lives altered in some way for the better by the masked hero. Spider-Man had touched so many lives, and each was given the chance to speak and tell their tale. Wade didn't know about the people of New York, but he was sick and tired of hearing about Spider-Man saving damsels and gentlemen from certain death, be it by fire, supervillain, or their own misery. Wade took in their glistening eyes, damp with unspilled tears. He saw quivering lips and crusty red noses. He saw all of this and with each testimony settled deeper and deeper into his funk. What right did they have to cry? Whatever they might think, they didn't know his Spider.

Wade had paused his cycle of continuously killing himself solely for the funeral. He had killed his baby boy, the least he could do was pay him some respect before finding a more permanent method of death.

Since he had awakened, he had not shed a single tear. He was numb to the world. Numb, that was, until he had turned on his television to watch the broadcast of Spider-Man's memorial. Then he grew angry. Every single person on his screen believed that they shared some form of intimacy with Spider-Man, as if they knew what it was that he believed in, what he fought for, who he was. Every single one of them was lying through their teeth, trying desperately to find some connection to the late hero, trying to make some sense of the madness.

He was no better.

He clicked of the television and finished fastening his cufflinks. As disgusted as he was with Spider-Man's memorial service, there was no way that he was going to miss Peter Parker's.

Unbeknownst to the population of New York, the coffin that was being buried underneath the large memorial was empty. The Avengers had felt it best that Spider-Man be honored by the greater population of New York, and Peter Parker be remembered by his loved ones. The Avengers had only grudgingly extended that invitation to Wade at the last second, and even then only after the persistent insisting of Johnny Storm.

Wade rested his head against the cool wood of the door, trying his best to get his fluttering heart under control. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. This was for Peter. _Peter._ He fidgeted with his cufflinks, remembering with fondness the day Peter had given them to him. He'd called it their one-monthiversary. Wade had called it a miracle.

Not for the first time, he questioned his choice in apparel. As much as he dealt in death, Wade had been to very few funerals. Part of him was adamant that it was easier that way. Fewer attachments, fewer heartaches, fewer distractions. The other part insisted that he had no choice in the matter at all, and was simply unlovable.

He dropped his head against hollowly against the door in rapid succession. No. This was _not_ his pity party. This was _not_ about _him_. So what if he screwed everything up? He would go and pay his respects. That was the _proper_ thing to do. If he could do one thing _right_ , it was this. He could come back home and get reacquainted with his shotgun later.

With that, he squared his shoulders, picked the lint out of the crease at his elbow and threw open the door, determined to get through this funeral if it killed him.

Of course, Wade may have been a little _too_ enthusiastic in convincing himself of his altruistic motives as the door refused to open smoothly into the hallway and instead chose to clip his polished shoes and careen around into his face, effectively breaking his nose.

"Shit! _Shit_! You mother _fucking_ goddamn excuse for a-"

"Ahem, _Wade_." Wade looked up from the hole he had just put through said door in surprise. There, standing in the doorway, was Jonny _freaking_ Storm himself. What's more, he had the audacity to look _concerned_.

Wade snarled and pulled his hand free of the door. His hand was in tatters, but he wade more concerned about the blood ruining the suit than the actual pain it caused him. _Pain_ , he deserved. "Storm? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be-"

"At the service? Yeah. But I thought I'd swing by and make sure you were coming."

"What makes you think I wouldn't go?" Johnny's eyes skated across Wade's face and over to the fresh hole in the door and through it into the bloodstained apartment. Wisely, he said nothing. Wade nudged the door closed with his toe and snapped his nose back into place in irritation.

He laughed bitterly. "Ah yes, the unstable mercenary is unstable. Someone, alert the media." Wade rolled his eyes. Johnny kept his mouth firmly shut.

The silence stretched on. Johnny looked uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to another, his eyes darting about so furiously that Wade had to question why he was here at all. Not that he cared, he was much too busy trying to look stoic and aloof for fear of breaking down and retreating into his blood-soaked sanctuary.

Johnny surprised them both by breaking the silence. "You-you look good. The tux-it suits you."

"Thanks." Wade didn't have the heart to tell him that it was the same suit from that night. It had been a mess, bloodstained and torn, but fortunately his drycleaner doubled as his tailor, and they had known him long enough not to ask any questions when Deadpool showed up.

Instead, he offered his arm to the other man with a casual "shall we?" and led him to the elevator.

…

There were surprisingly few people at Peter's funeral. Wade supposed that it had something to do with the fact that half of the guests that would have been in attendance were already comfortably nestled into the ground beside him, but he did his best to push those thoughts from his mind. Death should not beget death. Though considering his own history, Wade did have to wonder if perhaps fate did have a cruel sense of humor after all.

It was nice enough, he supposed. As nice as a funeral could be, anyway. The weather wasn't particularly terrible; the breeze gave him a slight chill, but the sun bounced around the graveyard in a way that seemed ill-suited to the current emotional atmosphere.

He had been right about the closed casket. It sat in front of rows upon rows of half-filled chairs. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Mahogany maybe? Solid gold? Spidey had made no secret of the fact that his family wasn't extremely well off, but a pine box? Surely his baby boy deserved more than that. If his aunt or whoever couldn't afford it, then certainly one of the other heroes would have stepped up and shelled out what to them must surely be only pennies.

Fucking Superheroes.

From what he could tell, it was only him and Johnny that had showed up to the actual funeral. All of the other supers had decided it would be more appropriate to attend the memorial and honor Spider-Man than it would be to acknowledge the personal tragedy that had befallen the Parker family. He supposed it said something about the level of intimacy he had shared with Spidey that he was here at all. Really, he should feel honored. That's what the star-spangled-buttface and the iron douche had told him anyway. He didn't feel honored though, he just felt sad.

At least he wasn't alone in that regard; beside stood an equally forlorn Johnny Storm. Why, he wasn't quite sure. There were plenty of open seats. And yeah, maybe they weren't the most _comfortable_ looking seats, but at least they were in earshot of the elderly woman delivering the eulogy. At any rate, they had to be more comfortable than the deceptively rough bark of the tree that they were both currently leaning against.

Wade had his own reasons for staying away from the service. First and foremost, of course, was the guilt. It was not a pleasant feeling nor one he often came across in his line of work. If the blood itch was a centipede crawling around his fingers and up and down his spine, then the guilt was a tapeworm, slowly gnawing at his insides and filling him up as it grew until he wanted nothing more than to jab his sword through his chest and cut it out.

The sword, oddly enough, was the only evidence of Deadpool that he had seen fitting to bring. Which, of course, was the second reason he stuck to the shadows.

He had decided to go maskless.

In hindsight, it had been a dumb idea. He was far too busy worrying about some random mourner turning and catching a glimpse of him and his horrendous skin. Heaven forbid he accidentally interrupt his own boyfriend's service.

He had thought it poetic. Peter couldn't hide anymore, so why should he? Now, he couldn't even go up and say goodbye to him. _Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid._ He couldn't do anything right.

He thumped his head back against the tree and rolled his gaze to Johnny. Johnny caught his gaze and ducked his head. "Don't want to draw any attention," he muttered. "Wouldn't be right. This is for _him_." Wade nodded and shoved the little prick forward anyway.

"Look, I've got my own reasons for throwing this little pity party. Go say goodbye. You'll regret it if you don't." Johnny stared back for a moment, and looked as if he was about to protest, or at least demand that Wade join him, but instead simply nodded and trotted away.

"Guilt's getting to ya, huh?" A throaty voice questioned behind him, as sickeningly sweet as brandy.

"Gaaaahhh!" Wade whirled around and made to draw his sword, but stopped short when he saw who it was. "What the hell is it with you hero types and surprises? I don't like them!" He addressed this last part to the bristles of Tony Stark's beard. He let his blade fall back into its sheath with a reassuring _swish_. "What do you want?"

Tony smirked. "Why, to offer my condolences, of course. It's not every day you kill your lover."

Wade's blood ran cold. _Shit._ This…was not good. Briefly, he wondered how much trouble he'd be in if he killed Tony Stark here and now. Prison, for sure. That would suck. There was no way he could punish himself in prison. He had only been there once or twice, but he seemed to remember it having a distinct _no-weapons_ policy. Now the death penalty, that wouldn't be so bad. Of course, there was the slight problem of finding a way to actually _kill_ him first.

Nope. It wasn't worth it. Talking would have to suffice. He _hated_ talking. Chatter? The idle noises his mouth made while his brain was otherwise preoccupied? _That_ was fine. That was _easy_. He wasn't called the Merc with the Mouth for nothing, after all. But _talking_? Talking was what you did in the leather chaise of a shrink's office. He had tried that before. If memory served, it had never ended well.

Talking involved _feelings_. And feelings, he had discovered, never led to anything good as far as he was concerned. His present surroundings were proof enough of that. But hey, what were the odds that it would get worse? Everyone he loved was already dead. To be sure, Peter's death was the first by his own hand, but looking back through his dating history? 'Nessa, Death (technically), even Cable (however briefly _that_ lasted). He had terrible luck in love; or at least his dates did.

Wade wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run like the coward he was, but Tony was looking at him like people always did; like he was _nothing_ , like he was nothing but a common, if slightly dangerous _fool_. There was a time when he wore that label proudly, but now? He had no mask to hide behind. He open book and Wade knew that Tony was reading every expression that flitted across his face. He _hated_ that. He hated people knowing what he was feeling. It made feel small, weak. Not to mention the fact that his face was on display and he could see the barest curl of disgust in those thin lips of his.

He considered denying it, but really, what was the point? "What. Do. You. Want?" He somehow managed to grunt out, miraculously stopping himself from burying his head deep into his jacket.

"So I was right! Hah! I knew it!" Wade watched on in disgust as Tony only just managed to prevent himself from fist pumping into the air. His excited whoop did draw a few curious stares, which in turn caused Wade to curl even farther around the tree. Tony seemed to realize his error and gave what, for him, passed as an apology. "I mean, such a shame."

"Smooth. What do you want?" Wade was on his last straw, so if his question came out as more of a snarl than actual words, it was hardly his fault. He wasn't sure exactly _when_ he had decided it, but he was sure that if his question wasn't answered in the next three seconds, someone was about to lose their fucking head. Preferably the idiotic asshole standing directly in front of him.

Stark sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I really do mean it, Wade. I came to see how you were. I figured you hadn't told anyone else, right? And everyone else was in too much shock to really notice it-"

"Notice _what_?"

"The guilt." Tony replied simply. "You found out he was gone, and yeah, you fell apart. I've seen _that_ more times than I care to count, but never, and I mean _never,_ have I seen anybody respond with that much… _self-inflicted_ ferocity." He shrugged. "Obviously, there was something else going on."

"So you decided to confront me at my own boyfriend's funeral? Just how big of an asshole _are_ you?"

"I decided to _comfort_ you. It's not my fault you took it the wrong way. I figured it must've been an accident. I mean, totally malicious, don't get me wrong, but hey…we all make mistakes, right?" He offered a small smile at Wade and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Wade winced and withdrew from Tony's touch. "Yeah, I guess if anybody knew anything about mistakes, it would be _you_.

Now it was Tony's turn to wince. He looked about to say something, but pursed his lips tightly and seemed to think better of it. "Look," he sighed. "I just wanted to say that I'm here to talk. No judging. None. Like, at _all_. Just…keep me in mind before you head off on a bender, okay? Booze _or_ blood. I can tell you from experience, one usually leads to another."

As moments passed in silence and Tony apparently became even more frustrated, Wade simply glared at the other man. He crossed his arms. There, that was better. He knew from experience that he looked more intimidating this way. He drew up his shoulders and jerked his head in the universal symbol for 'piss off'.

Tony did not move. Eventually, he sighed. "Look, Wade. You said it yourself. You'll regret it if you never say goodbye." Wade frowned and shifted his posture to reassure himself that his sword was still on his back. The weight, at least, seemed to ground him. A wordless promise, known to him maybe, but obviously lost on Metal-pants McGee here. Not that he would deign to tell him. It didn't concern him in the least. But then, he wasn't moving either. And if there was anything that Wade wanted _less_ than standing in the crowd over _there_ , it was standing next to this douche nozzle over _here_.

Wade scrunched up his nose in distaste as he surveyed the crowd, but the dazzling grin Tony sent him when he looked back more than made up his mind for him.

"Fine," Wade grumbled, shoving past the other man, doing his best to cause as much non-incapacitating damage as he could physically muster. He stomped over toward the throng of people in a huff, fortunately missing Tony's tacky double thumbs up in his haste to get away.


End file.
